Stepbrother Thief

by Blaze, Violet

  “Gum Wall before or after dinner?” I ask, withdrawing the dark plum lipstick and sliding it across my mouth. I definitely don't miss the spark in Gill's eyes as he watches me trace my lips. I pucker them up and then slide my index finger into my mouth, withdrawing it more slowly than I probably should. It's just a trick to keep the color off my teeth, but it serves to draw Gill's breath from his chest and curl his fingers into tight fists.

  I put the lipstick away, fighting back a smile and wishing I had some liner or gloss or something other than just color. Oh well. I didn't even reapply any makeup before this little not-date of ours—I hadn't expected to want or need anything like lip gloss. Or wet wipes. Or—little trick I learned when Gill and I first got together—a small tampon. Keeps all that exciting quickie cleanup to a minimum when there's no bathroom nearby.

  “Oh, definitely after,” he purrs, reaching over and touching the side of my face with his tattooed fingers, drawing my gaze over to his. I let him, telling myself I'm just playing along with this little charade for whoever happens to be watching us. “Dinner and then … a wall covered in used chewing gum. The air is heady with the smell of romance.”

  “Isn't it?” I ask, raising my brows and hating the small surge of disappointment I feel when Gill drops his hand away from my face. “Sex in a parking lot, being tailed by some rival criminals, and a romantic Italian dinner.”

  “I'll let you in on a secret,” he whispers, leaning across the car and whispering in my ear, “we won't be making it to dinner.” Gill's hot breath makes my entire body light up. And the innuendo present in that statement? Damn it. I wanted after-sex to be awkward with him, horrible, guilt ridden. But it's just not. It's so … right. Fuck. “Get your stuff and take this,” he hands me a large black leather purse—a Saint Laurent, I think—that he grabs from the backseat. “Wait until I come over and open your door. Stick close to me and hold onto my arm—do not under any circumstances let go of me or let yourself be separated by the crowd. I don't care if you have to strong-arm a toddler out of the way.”

  Gill pulls away without waiting for me to acknowledge his words, climbing out and walking unhurriedly over to my side of the SUV. I take that moment to stuff my clutch inside the larger bag, right on top of some folded clothes. Hmm. When he opens the door, I take his hand and let him help me out.

  I almost feel sorry for whoever's following us—the parking down here is just horrible. We got the last handicapped spot in a sea of tourists and there's absolutely no where to idle, to stop and watch. Obviously, Gill knows how to pick his battles well.

  He guides me through the crowd, moving carefully but not quickly, picking his path with a precision that I don't even begin to try to understand. This, this is Gill's world and I'm just a guest in it. After this is all over, he'll keep doing what he does and Cliff, Solène, and I will move on with our lives. If he'll decide to have a relationship with his daughter is anybody's guess.

  “You still know how to shoot, right?” he asks me, and I nod. Way back when, before we moved to France, Cliff used to take Gill and me to the outdoor shooting range to blow off some of that infamous teenage angst. It's been a while since I've handled a gun, but I never forgot. “Good.” That's all he says, not bothering to elaborate. Great. If this day comes to a close and I end up with blood on my hands … No. I won't think about that, not right now. I have to trust that Gilleon will do whatever he has to to keep that from happening. On the other hand, if someone's threatening my life—or the lives of anyone in my family—I won't hesitate to pull that trigger.

  People swirl around us in a mess of color and laughter, smiles flashing and eyes blinking past. I don't see anyone that looks suspicious, but then, that's the point, isn't it? Smells overwhelm me, making my mouth water and my belly clench tight. Damn it. Tonight was supposed to be about dinner and conversation, not running from bad guys. Or sex. It definitely wasn't supposed to be about sex.

  “Tell me this is all for a good reason, Gill,” I say suddenly, the words falling past my lips before I can stop them. I realize this isn't the time or place for a proper conversation, but I just want to hear him say …

  “It is.” He pauses—only in speech, we keep walking—and then takes a deep breath. “A selfish reason, maybe, but a good one.” Gill glances over at me, his eyes sharp and cutting, splitting me open with a single look. Shit. I don't like to make a habit of it, but I glance away first. “This way,” Gill whispers suddenly, turning us around on a dime and blending back into the crowd that's flowing the opposite direction.

  Within a few minutes, we're back where we started, rain pouring from the sky in sheets, the sudden downpour corralling everyone inside and away from the street. Gill keeps us dry, but walks us along the edge of the open air market like he's looking for someone or something. I half expected to see the SUV surrounded by a bunch of guys in leather jackets and sunglasses, but that's not the case. It sits there, glistening in the rain, completely and utterly unmolested as far as I can tell.

  I pull my gaze away, knowing there's no way Gill would take us back to that particular vehicle, and wonder what he plans on doing. At least, I hope there's a plan in all this. I consider asking, but then again, this is Gilleon Marchal we're talking about—of course there's a contingency plan in place.

  We walk for a little while down Pike Place and then circle back towards the Skybridge and the parking garage. Before taking me down that way however, Gill pauses near the restrooms and waits for a break in the crowd before dragging us both into the ladies' room.

  Unfortunately, break in the crowd doesn't necessarily mean nobody is in the bathroom.

  I smile an apology at the gray haired woman glaring daggers at us from the sinks.

  “Gill,” I begin, but he ignores me, ushering me into the largest stall at the end and ignoring the passive aggressive huffs of the angry lavatory patron. My guess? It'll be a matter of seconds before she's off to find an employee of some sort to complain to. “What are we doing in here?” I whisper as Gill slides his arm from mine, depriving me of that strong warmth that I hadn't realized I was enjoying until now. I purse my lips. Not at him, but at myself.

  “Hand me the bag,” he instructs, and I pass over the black leather purse—definitely a Saint Laurent and probably very expensive. I kind of want to keep it.

  I watch quietly, not wanting to draw any extra undue attention to our stall, as Gill pulls out a long sleeved red T-shirt and a pair of jeans, passing them over to me. He withdraws a similar outfit for himself, only his tee's black, nice and plain. Mine has fish on it and the words Seattle, Washington scrawled in navy blue cursive. A tourist's shirt.

  “You could've taken your clothes and changed in the men's room, you know,” I say, an ulterior motive buried behind my words. Changing in this stall with Gill means stripping down next to Gill. I know we're on the run and all, but hormones will be hormones. My body already misses the tight pressure of him buried inside of me, the heat of his fingers roaming over my hypersensitive skin. I grit my teeth a little, but force myself to take a breath and calm down. Calm is the only thing that will keep me safe in this scenario; panic never helped anybody do anything.

  Seems Gill can pretty much read my thoughts off my facial expressions alone.

  “I won't look,” he promises with a slight smile that I meet with raised brows.

  “Like I give a shit about that,” I lie, reaching back to unzip the jumpsuit, the movement sparking an immediate recall of what went down in the SUV. “But that lady's going to search her angry little heart out until she finds someone to complain to. We don't need that kind of attention right now.”

  Gill's mouth tightens a little and he turns away as I drop the straps on the jumpsuit. Huh. Not the reaction I expected from him. I thought he'd be appreciating the view.

  “I would've loved working with you,” he says quietly, his voice like satin over steel. Pretty to listen to, hard to come up against. Almost as hard as the strong, thick muscles in his back when he shrug
s off the suit jacket, shoulder holster and button down. “I think you would've been good at it.”

  “At …” I almost say stealing jewelry, but I'm not that stupid. I might not be a master thief, but I do have a lick of common sense. Guess I'll have to clarify with him later. You could've asked me to come with you, Gill, I think, wondering what his day to day life is really like when he's not playing bodyguard to the rest of us. I bet he's seen the world by now. Being a professional thief was never a dream of mine, but being with Gill was. If he had asked, I probably would've gone with him.

  A melancholy sigh slides past my lips, but I shake off the feeling as I drop the designer jumpsuit to the floor, the wide legs falling right over my pumps like they did in the SUV. I kick them off anyway, so I can put the jeans on.

  They're a perfect fit.

  Hmm.

  It's hard enough to find well-fitting jeans for myself, let alone some that were purchased for me without my knowledge. Holy crap. Gill's infamous perception skills apparently extend to my body—and knowing it intimately through a single glance. He had to have grabbed these before today, before we had sex. He just … knew how they'd slide over my hips and cup my ass in perfect blue denim.

  “I didn't want to leave you,” Gill says and my heart skips several beats, thinking he's bringing up that day again. But he's not. Silly me. “If I went in the men's room and then came out to find that Karl's guys had already grabbed you …” I watch as his fists curl with imagined rage. Even thinking about it is setting him off. I half expect a snarl to tear from his throat. Instead, Gill shakes his head and drops his slacks, giving me a perfect shot of his ass in the black briefs he's wearing.

  I turn away and stare at the wall until I hear him rustling around in the bag again. He drops a pair of … fucking flip-flops in front of me and dons a pair of his own, stuffing our other clothes and shoes into the massive purse and giving it back to me.

  “Can you put your hair in a ponytail?” he asks, handing over a hair tie he must've gotten from the bag. “You'd be surprised at how much a different hairstyle can throw someone off.”

  “No wigs?” I ask, looking up into his blue eyes as I collect my shoulder length locks into a ponytail and snap the band over it all.

  “Unless it's a good wig, a really good one, and it's cut just right for your head, it looks like a wig. And wigs draw attention. Best to stick with your real hair.” He reaches over and brushes some of mine back before steeling his expression, like he's pushing away tender thoughts. I feel a chill creep up my spine. Gill turns away and grabs the shoulder holster he's flung across the toilet, slipping it back on, both guns still firmly locked in place, and then throws a black North Face jacket over it all. Praise the heavens for letting big, bulky purses be the norm in fashion right now. “Let's go.”

  Gill opens the door and saunters right past a woman and two little girls, both of them around Solène's age, without batting an eye.

  “We're in Seattle,” I tell them as I follow after, “gender is fluid.”

  The older woman snaps her mouth closed as I breeze out of the bathroom and stand next to Gill, who's smiling so widely and brightly that he doesn't even look like the same man from a few minutes ago.

  “So, honey, where to now?” he asks, tucking his hands in his pockets and glancing over at me.

  Take yourself there, Regina, and let yourself believe it. If you do, then so will they. That's what Gill told me when I asked why we had to start the heist off with a gun to my head. It's all about acting like you know who you are and what you're doing and convincing everybody else that that's the truth.

  “Actually, I'm a little beat. You want to get out of here? I'd like to go back to the hotel and watch Netflix on my laptop.” I give him an overwrought smile, letting it stretch across my face.

  “I was hoping to have a beer at the Athenian,” he says, checking his watch and then shrugging. “But I guess we can do that tomorrow? We have a whole two days left in Seattle.”

  “Don't forget about the Space Needle!” I say with false enthusiasm. Gill chuckles and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me in close and tucking me against him. I fit there like I was made for it. And I hate that. And I love it. Shit. “Am I overdoing it?” I ask and he chuckles, the sound vibrating through me, straight to my cold, bare toes.

  “A little, but that's what I like about you. Better to achieve more than less.”

  “In reality, I just hate tourists. When I pretend to be one, my inherent ire leaks out of my pores.” Gill laughs again, the sound genuine and real, old school Gilleon. It makes my heart hurt.

  “We're going to head into the parking garage. A bit risky, but there should still be plenty of people to provide some cover.” I nod and let him lead me across the Skybridge with its teal metal walls and massive windows looking out over the street and the stream of silver rain cascading down to the pavement below.

  “Where did we park again?” I ask, letting my brows wrinkle up and tapping a finger against my lips. Gill glances over at me with a smile and then freezes, like he's seen something he wishes he hadn't. Without a word, his hand flies out and grabs my wrist, yanking me against his chest. He cups the back of my head and kisses me, sliding his tongue deep.

  I take the opportunity to enjoy being undercover. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be able to kiss him like this, taste him and hold him and pretend for one easy fucking second that we really are a couple dressed in silly tourist duds, exploring a new city and worrying only about what restaurant we're going to eat at for breakfast in the morning. I wanted that with Gill, desperately.

  I like being with him, even now. No. No. I love being with him.

  The realization hits me like a shock wave, making me tighten my grip on his neck, press deeper into the kiss. It can't come true, can never be real again, because I won't let it. You don't get hurt as badly as I do and walk away without a limp. I can never forget what Gill did to me, to Solène. If I let myself really love him again, really and truly, I could never trust him. And what's love without trust? It's like a skyscraper with no foundation. Sure, it can touch the sky, but even a small gust of wind can knock it over.

  Doesn't stop me from gnawing on his lower lip, inhaling hard each time our lips break and then touch again, leaning my body as close to his as I can get it.

  “Regi,” he whispers as his hands knead my hips through my jeans, his fingertips brushing a bare bit of skin between the cotton of the T-shirt and the blue denim. I slide my tongue across Gill's teeth, tasting him, absorbing him with my mouth. “Regi,” he says again, a bite of wry amusement in his voice. “They're gone.”

  I pull back with a start, blinking away my emotions with a few bats of my eyelashes, praying that Gill won't realize what I was doing. Please attribute what I just did to overacting, I think at him, knowing full well that he's already picking up on my feelings. Even if he's not showing it at the moment, he knows. He always knows.

  The barriers I've erected to keep myself safe seem to have holes in them.

  I'll have to figure out a way to repair them—and fast. If Gill really is trying to get back together with me, then he'll pursue my heart with the intensity of a cat stalking its prey. And if he knows I miss him, that I still love him, then he'll never let me walk away.

  I take a deep breath as Gill wraps his hand around mine, his eyes scanning the parking garage with that laser sharp gaze of his. He keeps an easy smile on his face while he does it, pretending to search for our car, but his eyes … they stay cold and clinical as he pauses next to a white minivan and slides a key from his pocket.

  I don't wait for instructions, moving over to the passenger side and grabbing the handle as soon as he unlocks it. Unhurriedly, Gill starts the engine, checks the rearview, and reverses out of the space.

  I don't let out an easy breathe until we pull out of the parking garage.

  I won't say that I'm happy about sharing a hotel room with Gill, but it is what it is. We're here; we're not going back to the house; ther
e are two beds. Thank God. In all the best romance movies, there's always that silly tussle when one of the two characters sharing a room realizes that there's only a single bed and hilarity ensues. And sometimes sex does, too. I don't intend for either of those things to be a part of my evening, but I do appreciate the fact that Gilleon didn't make any assumptions about us.

  “You sure you're not worried?” Gill asks, tilting his head to the side and looking at me with unabashed curiosity. His blue eyes are lit from within, sparking with the flame of the hunt, the thrill of adrenaline, the grit of a challenge; Gill likes challenges. Loves them, maybe. And that could be all I really am to him—a challenge. One of few single women he couldn't get to look his way if he wanted them to. Hmm. “The heist didn't seem to set you off, the shooting, this.” He gestures around at the room and then sits down heavy on the bed next to me. The mattress dips towards his large frame and our thighs bump together, sending a thrill of energy through my body.

  How ridiculous.

  I'm in my thirties. I don't need electric pulses and fireworks and butterflies, definitely not quickies in the front seats of SUVs. I don't need any man really, but if I were going to look for one, I'd be aiming for one I could trust. I can't trust Gill anymore—not with my heart. But I can trust him with this.

  “I'm not worried because I know you wouldn't leave your dad to die at the hands of merciless criminals.” I force a tight smile to my face. “And I know you wouldn't leave your daughter either.” My voice gets really soft when I say that, too soft. Gill looks at me and we stare into each other's eyes for a long, long moment.